Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 111

"You should maintain close ties with Baron Ravenclaw. Since you've received instruction from him before, it wouldn't seem too unusual."

The Grand Duke of Beltus views people like chess pieces on a board.

What he truly loves is only the prestige of the Beltus family he built—each member is merely a puzzle piece for his grand scheme.

His cold-blooded nature extends even to his own flesh and blood, occasionally casting icy glances at Denise as if demanding she prove her usefulness.

Denise may have minor grievances about this, but she's never openly rebelled.

In fact, as long as she thoroughly demonstrated her value, she could laze about without much hardship—a comfortable arrangement in its own way.

"Be that as it may..."

Though uncertain what schemes the Grand Duke might be weaving by using her connection with Baron Ravenclaw, Denise paid it little mind.

She simply visited Ravenclaw's estate as the family intended, nothing more.

However, Ravenclaw Barony felt markedly different from before.

The construction projects led by Aiselin were one thing, but what truly made Denise's expression darken was Elente's transformation.

"Wouldn't it be time to reconsider your prolonged stay at Ravenclaw Barony? Lady Aiselin is a member of House Duplein—with your family's standing so precarious, shouldn't its central figure remain at the main estate?"

Though they'd initially clashed when meeting in Evelstein's social circles, their relationship had warmed considerably after several conflicts and crises.

Yet now, Elente and Aiselin's rapport had deteriorated sharply once more.

As someone who needed to stay informed about social dynamics, Denise naturally sought to understand the cause behind this shift.

However, the reason defied all her expectations.

"W-well... D-Diela is handling things well enough... I-I'm still supporting the family in my own way..."

Aiselin's fidgeting avoidance was refreshingly novel.

Few could match Denise's sharp perception.

Listening quietly to their exchange, the reason for their strained dynamic became clear.

"Don't tell me... Lady Elente too...?"

Denise had long known Aiselin harbored personal feelings for Baron Ravenclaw.

Even as Duplein's prized flower and pillar, a girl her age might naturally develop passing affections during such turbulent years.

She'd dismissed it as a fleeting storm until now.

But this was getting ridiculous.

Elente seemed equally bewitched, orbiting Ravenclaw like some third-rate romance novel heroine—it was nearly mind-numbing.

The trashy romance novels Denise devoured in her spare time at least portrayed emotions honestly, whereas Elente concealed hers, making it feel all too real.

Her writer's instinct involuntarily sketched a love triangle between Aiselin, Elente, and Ravenclaw.

"This might be inappropriate to think but... what fascinating dynamics!"

Unable to suppress her creative instincts, Denise felt peculiar excitement bubbling up.

Regardless, Ravenclaw showed zero interest in romance—a man truly obsessed only with magical achievement.

Even establishing an academy for noble ladies was likely just a means to fund his magical research and maintain his house's standing.

Watching two of the continent's most prominent noblewomen bicker over such an ascetic man promised endless entertainment.

Just imagining it sparked countless inspirations—who knew what impact this might have on her unfinished masterpiece <The Arrogant Lord Robain>?

Of course, the parties involved were probably tearing their hair out in frustration, but what did that matter to Denise? This was"someone else's problem."

With that realization, her eyes sparkled brighter.

"Right. As long as I remain a pure observer, what's the harm?"

Thus seated, Denise studied the two with satisfaction as creative visions blossomed in her mind—though she shouldn't get too carried away.

"Father seems to believe Ravenclaw Barony holds some grand significance in his schemes..."

Leaving the bickering pair behind, Denise set down her teacup, lost in thought.

The Grand Duke intensely guarded against emerging powers or unexpected figures gaining noble influence.

His outreach to the rapidly rising Baron Ravenclaw stemmed from this exclusivist nature.

Denise knew Derek cared little for secular power, but people could always change.

Perspective shifts with position. Regardless, she resolved to observe Ravenclaw Barony's situation closely.

"My, how time flies. I should inspect the training grounds and greet the other ladies."

Though reluctant to leave, duty called.

Death walks.

The legendary 6th-Class necromancer Phee carries the grudges of countless wraiths in her footsteps.

This breaker of taboos, wielder of corpses and restless spirits, can raise armies of the dead with a gesture and snuff out lives with a finger snap.

No one on the continent matches her mastery of necromancy—even Death itself fears her, hiding from her presence.

This incarnation of death arrived without fanfare.

- Tap, tap.

Descending the carriage steps of Tigris Barony, she quietly surveyed Ravenclaw Barony's entrance—modest yet well-appointed.

Her two-toned silver hair, faintly lavender at the roots, seemed to mirror the deathly aura clinging to her.

Yet outwardly, she appeared merely a plucky young baroness from the countryside.

A beautiful country lass raised with love, frolicking across meadows and mountain ridges.

"This is Ravenclaw Barony. Many high nobles visit, so mind your manners, milady."

Phee smiled, lips curving upward.

While her groom and retainers stood stiffly alert, Phee walked demurely with eyes gently closed.

Clasping her hands primly, her bearing wouldn't be cowed even among high nobility.

Petty nobles relying solely on family prestige lacked such inherent grace.

Conversely, even rural baronesses could exude an unapproachable aura—Phee exemplified this.

Her half-lidded eyes held an indescribable antique charm. Though yet to debut in society, her presence would intimidate most low-ranking Evelstein nobles.

Before Ravenclaw's gatekeeper, she spoke softly with a saccharine voice:

"I've come from Tigris Barony. My name is Phee Rafaela Tigris."

The gatekeeper checked the visitor log, confirming her name before looking up—and froze.

Though twice her age and towering over her petite frame, he instinctively held his breath.

Her lavender eyes exerted an almost gravitational pull—as if prolonged eye contact might siphon one's soul.

Lacking magical sensitivity, the guard simply nodded blankly.

Phee did nothing. Her innate"Charm Eye"possessed a peculiar power to seize hearts.

Even first-time viewers might agree to unreasonable requests under its influence—starting with perceiving her as charming, then gradually falling deeper over months or years until willingly offering their lives.

Resistance required either prior knowledge to guard against it... or natural immunity. Most lacked either.

"Please... enter..."

Thus, without completing basic screening, the dazed guard granted passage.

With an antiquated smile, Phee stepped through Ravenclaw's gates.

"Crude facilities, but impressive given the timeframe."

Crossing the garden, Phee assessed Ravenclaw Barony.

"Still, just an academy teaching magic basics to novices."

Eyes gently closed, she felt strange emptiness leading her retainers forward.

Assuming the identity of Tigris Barony's sole heiress had been ideal for covert necromantic research and writing.

The remote barony provided perfect seclusion.

Yet nobles couldn't completely avoid society—eventually succumbing to her"father's"insistence to attend Ravenclaw Academy.

She planned to complete the curriculum hastily and depart.

Wasting time at this rural vineyard estate conflicted with her ambitions.

Ravenclaw Barony was too small a vessel for a 6th-Class necromancer—none would dispute this.

Gathering her white-and-lavender lace dress, Phee headed toward the main manor to evaluate its owner.

"..."

Escorted by retainers, she entered Baron Ravenclaw's office where a sharp-featured man worked at his desk. Despite many noble visitors, he'd readily granted her audience.

Lifting her skirt, Phee greeted him:

"Thank you for this opportunity. I am Phee Rafaela Tigris of Tigris Barony. An honor to meet you, Lord Derek, head of Ravenclaw Academy."

"Lady of Tigris Barony, I see."

Derek Raidof Ravenclaw.

As the young baron rose, Tigris retainers bowed. Though nearly same age, he held equal rank to her"father."

His authority at such a young age—especially as a slum-born commoner—suggested extraordinary qualities.

Of course, to a girl who'd reached the pinnacle of 6th-Class magic, everything seemed quaint.

This was merely theater to conceal the dagger in her breast.

Thus Phee maintained perfect composure, eyes demurely lowered as she curtsied.

Derek studied her briefly before clasping his hands behind his back.

"I know of Tigris Barony. Your small territory produces a tenth of the southeast's grain—remarkable agricultural efficiency. And the iron tools forged from northern Rafran ore are famously durable."

"How kind to remember our humble lands. My father devotes himself to governance, inspiring our people's diligence. I'm grateful to benefit from this."

Her calm voice retained youthful traces.

But this girl was a centuries-old monster. Underestimating her based on appearance was dangerous.

Derek closed his eyes momentarily in thought.

Strength? Magic? Useless against this 6th-Class entity.

If she realized he'd uncovered her identity, her reaction would be unpredictable.

What he needed now was unshakable nerve.

Clearing his throat, Derek stepped forward.

"Incidentally, Lady Tigris seems rather careless."

"...Pardon?"

"Other high nobles aside, how could a baroness from the remote borders arrive precisely on time?"

Social hierarchy favored Derek.

As her nominal superior, he continued:

"Once academy sessions begin, I'll effectively become your mentor."

"Y-yes. That's correct."

"Thus I must speak plainly. Punctuality matters. Traveling such distance, you should've departed at least half a day—no, a full day early to account for delays."

Flustered by his sudden lecture, Phee wiped sweat:

"B-but... I arrived on time..."

"Tsk. That's not the point! As you said, you were fortunate. What if your carriage wheel stuck in mud? Or bandits attacked?"

"...Such things..."

"Could you guarantee they wouldn't happen? No one can. Hence, proactive preparation is essential. Sigh..."

Derek massaged his temples, warming to his theme.

"I hate to say it, but in my day, we'd never talk back to instructors."

"I-if it seemed I did... my apologies."

"Apologies aren't enough. Will apologies complete your academy term?"

"What? N-no, that's not... Then how should I..."

Derek crossed his arms, scowling.

"Figure it out yourself! Must you rely on others? True mages think independently!"

"I... see..."

"Exactly. Do you carry magic tools or spellbooks?"

"O-of course! I always carry them to practice magic anytime. I'm thoroughly prepared."

"Tsk... Don't rely on such crutches..."

"Huh?"

As Phee gaped, Derek's expression turned tigerish.

"Mindset affects body and spirit! Always seeking comfort, chasing pre-made answers—how will that strengthen willpower? Spellbooks? Magic tools? Modern mages rely too much on conveniences! This decadent age!"

"..."

"In my day, we memorized incantations and channeled magic through our bodies! Hardship deepens understanding! Adversity is worth pursuing!"

Derek's strategy defied description...

Yet even a 6th-Class mage found herself at a loss...

"I'm fine with it, but... I'd hate for you to be called uncultured elsewhere. I worry you might hear unpleasant remarks. Really, I don't mind personally."

"Oh, in that case..."

"But...! If others...! Criticized you, that wouldn't do! So listen earnestly—let this become your flesh and blood! This is all valuable experience! Normally you'd pay for such wisdom!"

"I... did pay tuition..."

"Tsk... More backtalk...!"

Ravenclaw Academy - Opening Day.

As her mind grew hazy, Phee thought:

'This... can't be...'

No confusion magic was at work... yet her spirit felt eroded.

And this was only the beginning.